Believed Violent (17 page)

“Don’t worry about me, honey. I ― I just want a fix. That bastard holds it over me. He has let me go until I’m blowing my top. But, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll get it. He’ll give it to me,” and she left the cave at a stumbling run.

Completely demoralized, terrified and shaken, Nona crouched on the bed, her face in her hands. Then she heard a quiet, cultured voice saying, “I’m afraid you are having a bad time, Miss Jacey.”

She started and looked up. The tall, white-haired man, immaculately dressed, was regarding her with sympathetic blue eyes. Nona stared at him and caught her breath in a sobbing gasp.

Lindsey looked around for a chair, pulled one up close to her and sat down.

“I’m sorry about all this, Miss Jacey. I assure you you have nothing to be frightened about. May I explain ?”

His quiet, charming smile made an immediate, soothing impact on Nona. She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and managed to sit upright. She looked questioningly at him.

Who ― who are you?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

“You must look on me as a friend,” Lindsey said, crossing his long legs. He took from his pocket his tin of sweets. “Do you like sweets? I’m a bit of an addict. Do have one.”

She shuddered away from the tin of highly coloured boiled sweets, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to be so frightened,” Lindsey said, taking an orange coloured sweet from the tin. He examined it critically before putting it into his mouth. “I am very sorry about all this. You will understand just why you are here when I have explained.” He turned the sweet in his mouth. “Some time ago, you worked for Dr. Paul Forrester. As you know, Dr. Forrester is suffering from a strange mental disease. It is essential that he should be brought back to normal. He has invented a metal. You know all about that. The formula for making this metal is in code and the code is unbreakable. You also know about this. Dr. Forrester is the only person who can break this code. You happen to be in the position to bring him back to normal so that he can decode his formula.” He paused to smile at her. “Are you following me?”

Nona was listening. She nodded.

“Good. The urgency to break the code is why all these disagreeable things have been happening to you,” Lindsey went on. You are here to help bring Dr. Forrester back to normal. A mental specialist tells me that Forrester needs a past contact. He should unexpectedly meet someone he has known well. This contact could re-adjust him. So what you will have to do is not very difficult. But first, I want to know if you will help him re-adjust.”

Nona’s mind was now alive. She realized this man could not be working for the American Government. From the long interrogation she had had to face from the C.I.A. and the F.B.I, she had long ago known the vital importance of Forrester’s invention. She now realized this man, with his smooth manners and his charming smile, must be working for a foreign power . . . probably Russia.

“I don’t think I can help,” she said, forcing her voice to sound firm. “Dr. Forrester’s invention belongs to America.”

Lindsey smiled.

“My dear young lady, no one is talking about Dr. Forrester’s invention. I am asking you to help him get re-adjusted.”

“I can’t help,” Nona said.

Lindsey raised his right foot and regarded his glossy toe-cap. He sucked his sweet, then he looked at her, his smile kindly.

“In your present position, Miss Jacey, you really have no alternative but to co-operate.” There was no threat in his smile. His blue eyes were even a little sad. “This emergency is far too important for you even to think of being unco-operative. What you will be asked to do is very simple. You will see Dr. Forrester and talk to him as you used to talk to him. There will be a microphone and I will be listening to your conversation. I mention this in case you might imagine you can say what you like and not what you will have been told to say. It is hoped that a contact with you could put Dr. Forrester on balance. It is a theory . . . nothing more than that, but it might work.” He got to his feet. “I will leave you to think it over. If you find you can’t co-operate . . .” He paused and crunched down on his sweet, then he lifted his shoulders. “You have already met Keegan. In my opinion he is a disgusting and revolting animal. I am sure you share my opinion. If you feel you can’t co-operate, then there is no point in my staying in these dreary caves. If I leave, you will have no protection. Think about all this seriously, Miss Jacey,” and again smiling, Lindsey walked out of the cave.

She was left alone for over an hour. This was a psychological mistake on Lindsey’s part. He had imagined that leaving her with this threat of Keegan hanging over her, he would completely break her, but he had misjudged her. The time lapse gave her time to think, to understand her position and to stiffen her morale.

When Sheila Latimer eventually came into the cave, her eyes glittering, her expression relaxed, Nona had decided what she had to do. She had decided if she were able to help Forrester re-adjust, she must do it. It would then be up to him to give these people the formula or not. Somehow, she must warn him what was going on and that he was more likely than not in the hands of Russian agents.

Sheila, carrying a white overall, said, “Hi, honey . . . I got my fix. Man! Was I crawling up a wall! You all set for your act?”

“Yes, I’m all set,” Nona said and got to her feet.

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad,” Sheila said. “They think you should wear this.” She held up the overall. “I found it with your things. Put it on, sweetheart,” and as Nona slipped into the overall, Sheila stood back and admired her. “You don’t know how sweet you look in that thing. Like a nurse . . . Florence Nightingale. Oh, honey . . . you look divine.”

Dr. Kuntz came into the cave. At the sight of him, Sheila stopped gushing.

“I’ll leave you, honey. You’ve nothing to worry about. Just do what the doc tells you. Honest honey, you’ve really nothing to worry about,” and waving her hands and side-stepping Kuntz she left the cave.

The fat little doctor sat on the edge of a chair, waving Nona to sit on the bed.

“You are about to take part in a very delicate experiment,” he said as she sat down. “You are going to meet my patient after a period of some twenty-eight months.” Dr. Kuntz paused, looking at Nona who sat motionless, her pale face expressionless. “You must be completely natural with him. If by chance the sight of you puts him back on balance, it is possible he won’t remember being in the sanatorium . . . it is even possible that he will believe that today is twenty-eight months ago. Do you understand?”

Nona nodded.

“A lot depends on how you handle the situation. It is a big responsibility. Once you come face to face with him, you will have to talk and act according to his reactions. You mustn’t contradict anything he says. This is important. Since he has been in the sanatorium, he has acted like a zombie. If, by seeing you, you jolt his mind alive, you must be very careful how you behave. This is your responsibility. We will be listening to your conversation, but we can’t help you. Here is what you tell him . .

The beady-eyed doctor talked on and on, his fat hands moving expressively as he talked while Nona, her chin in her hands, listened.

The first tiny crack in the wall of security that Jonathan Lindsey had constructed to keep the Forrester operation secret came when Chief of Police Terrell parked outside his bungalow, ten minutes past midnight.

He felt discouraged. So far there was no lead and Forrester had completely vanished. Troops, police and Federal Agents were even at this late hour still searching every likely hiding place in the city.

Terrell had been at his desk for thirty-eight continuous hours. Beigler had relieved him, and now all he was thinking of as he got out of his car was his comfortable bed and sleep.

He heard a horn tap . . . a single note, and pausing at his gate, he looked over his shoulder. A black Buick Wildcat was parked across the street. A man sat at the wheel, a cigarette glowing between his lips and as Terrell looked at him, the man waved.

Terrell never carried a gun. He was Chief of Police and believed in his authority. He was completely fearless and walking slowly, without hesitation, he crossed to the car. He recognized the man behind the driving wheel. It was Shane O’Brien who Terrell knew ran the Go-Go Club on the Eastwide waterfront.

Terrell came to rest by the car.

“You wanted me?”

“Evening, Chief,” O’Brien didn’t look at Terrell but stared through the windshield down the badly lit road, his eyes watchful. “Could we take a little ride? This street isn’t healthy for me.”

Terrell knew immediately that O’Brien had information for him. He was surprised. Up to now, O’Brien had run his Club well, kept clear of the police and clear of trouble. He was the last man Terrell would expect to turn informer.

Terrell got in beside O’Brien who set the car moving. He drove around the back streets, then slowed and pulled up by a vacant lot.

“I read about Drena French,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “She wasn’t drunk. She didn’t fall into the wet. She was knocked off. I don’t know why, but I think I know who did it. I can’t prove it and I don’t want to prove it. I’m risking my neck and my Club talking this way, but I liked the girl.”

Terrell sucked at his unlit pipe. He didn’t say anything. He waited.

“A guy came to the Club the night before she kicked off,” O’Brien went on. “He said he wanted to talk to Drena. I know him. He’s dangerous. I warned Drena, but they talked together, then she came to me and asked if she could leave. This guy had a business proposition for her. He had already given her three-hundred bucks to get her interested. I told her to watch out. She left with him. The next night she was telling Tin-Tin she was going to buy The Seagull Restaurant. I think this guy must have offered her a big lump of money and double-crossed her. I think he was the one who knocked her off.”

“Tell me about him,” Terrell said, no longer sleepy. He was sitting upright, looking at O’Brien’s lean profile.

“His name is Chet Keegan,” O’Brien said. “He works with a guy called Lu Silk. They are deadly poison. I don’t know anything else about them. They always seem to have plenty of money . . . always well dressed. They’re not hooked up with the gangs around here. They work on their own, but they have a reputation of being dynamite.” He looked sharply at Terrell. This is a tip, Chief. This has to be strictly under the wraps. I’m tipping you because I liked the girl.”

Terrell sighed.

“Okay, O’Brien. Anything else?”

“No.” O’Brien started the car. “I’ll take you home.”

They drove in silence until they reached Terrell’s bungalow. Then O’Brien said, “I hope you nail those two bastards.”

Terrell got out of the car.

“So long,” he said and walked over to his car. O’Brien drove rapidly away. Terrell hesitated. He longed for his bed, but now there was work to do. He got in his car and lifted the telephone receiver that gave him direct contact with Beigler’s desk.

Beigler said: “Sergeant’s desk . . . City Police.”

“Listen, Joe,” Terrell said. “I want everything that you can dig up about two men: Chet Keegan and Lu Silk. This is top priority. I’m now going to bed. I’ll be at headquarters at eight o’clock. I want the dope right there on my desk.”

“Nothing but names?” Beigler asked. “Nothing but names,” Terrell returned and hung up.

Wearily he got out of the car, locked the doors, then plodded up the garden path to his front door. He saw with relief there was a light on in the sitting-room. Carrie was waiting up for him.

At headquarters, Beigler replaced the telephone receiver, drank some coffee and lit a cigarette. While he was doing this, his brain was in top gear. There was one man he was sure could give him quick information about these two the Chief was interested in. A man named Carl Hegger who was Beigler’s own stool pigeon: a man who knew everything there was to know about the underworld.

Beigler looked at Lepski who was reading the comic strips, yawning and mussing his hair and every now and then looking at his watch. In ten minutes he would be off duty and going back to his wife. Since he and Carroll had only been married for two months, the return to his marriage bed was something he looked forward to with relish.

“Tom,” Beigler said, getting to his feet. “You’re promoted. Take over the desk. I have outside business,” and before Lepski could scream a protest, Beigler was gone.

Beigler drove fast to Hegger’s apartment. Leaving the car, he took the shaky elevator to the third floor and rang the doorbell. As he waited, he looked at his strap watch. The time was twenty-five minutes to one.

The door opened and Hegger stood in the doorway: a short, heavily built man, balding with a broad fleshy face and deepset black eyes. He was wearing a pair of bottle green pyjamas and his hair was mussed. He looked as if he had just got out of bed.

“You alone?” Beigler asked, pushing his way into the small but tidy sitting-room.

“Me and the cat,” Hegger said. “What a time to call! What’s up?”

“Has the cat got two or four legs?” Beigler demanded, knowing Hegger’s weakness for blondes.

Heger hesitated and then shrugged.

“Okay . . . if it’s business, let’s go for a little ride.” He looked uneasily at his bedroom door. “I’ve just got this cat thawed out . . . she’s been an iceberg for weeks. Let’s hurry it up. She could freeze up again.”

“I’ll wait down on the street,” Beigler said and left the apartment.

Ten minutes later, he and Hegger were driving around the block. Beigler was asking questions.

“Poison,” Hegger said when he heard the names. “Don’t kid yourself for one second . . . they are sheer poison. They have plenty of protection. I could give you a breakdown on them, but what’s it worth?”

“I’ll spring twenty bucks,” Beigler said.

Hegger sniggered.

“Let me out. I’ll walk back. The exercise will do me good.”

Beigler pulled up. He turned and tapped Hegger on his fat chest.

“I said twenty bucks.” His voice was cop hard. “If you don’t put up, buster, I’ll take you in right now. I’m not fooling. This is important. I’ll throw you to Olsen. Have you forgotten that you laid his daughter some months ago? He doesn’t know, but I could tell him.”